Page 32 of X's and O's

I’d felt this dark cloud of depression before. Lived in it for months after every denied parole hearing.

Violet’s letters were the thing that had pulled me out of it the last time I’d felt like this. Only now, I didn’t have those either. Our time as pen pals was over. I had hours until I was supposed to meet her, and instead of the thought filling me with excitement, it only sent me deeper into the darkness.

I wasn’t good enough for her.

That was the one thing that kept echoing over and over in my head. How could I show up at the bluffs tonight with no job, not a cent to my name, and living in a halfway house with Boyd the fucking drug dealer as a roommate? I couldn’t take her on a date. Couldn’t bring her back to my home.

I felt like a fraud and a phony. Like I had zero right to turn up there tonight and even breathe the same air as her.

I needed to cancel, but it was too late to send her a letter. I had her phone number but no phone to contact her.

Even if I had, I knew I couldn’t just send a text. She deserved better than that.

With thirty minutes left until I was supposed to meet her, I made a decision. I found Boyd playing pool downstairs with one of the other newly released guys.

He offered me the cue. “You wanna play?”

I shook my head. “I need a favor. Can I borrow your bike?”

He was the only one I knew with any sort of transportation. I didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, or how. I just hoped he’d had it stashed at a friend’s place or something and that it wasn’t stolen, because the last thing I needed was the cops chasing me down. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I was definitely the beggar right now.

Boyd raised an eyebrow. “I like you, man, but I don’t like you that much.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Come on, Boyd. Please. I’ll be an hour tops, and I’ll bring her back to you without a scratch, I promise.”

He eyed me. “You pay for the gas.”

“Ain’t got no money.”

“I told you how to change that.”

“Still not interested.”

Boyd leaned on the pool cue. “Fine. You draw me a new tattoo.”

I blinked. “You want me to draw you a tattoo in exchange for borrowing your bike?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I? I know a guy who can dothe tat, but I don’t like his designs. I’ve seen you scribbling in that book of yours. Your shit is good, and I want something with my wife’s name. Something that’ll show her how much I love her and maybe she’ll take me back.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that putting a woman’s name on your skin was never a good idea. But I needed his bike, and who was I to tell a grown man what to do with his body?

“Give me your keys and you can go look through my sketchbook. Let me know which one you like, and if you don’t like any of them, then I’ll draw you something else.”

“Deal.” He shoved his hand deep into his pocket and took out a key, tossing it in my direction. “She needs some work but she’s my baby. So treat her like gold.”

I caught the key, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Boyd had been riding for a hot minute compared to all the years I’d spent on the back of a bike. If one of the two of us was more likely to wreck her, it wouldn’t have been me.

I spun on my heel and headed out front to where the bike was parked. Boyd’s helmet hung over the handlebars, the old-school kind with an open face. I pulled it on, adjusting the chin strap so the helmet fit snugly.

I swung my leg over and got her going, with minimal swearing and a mental note to tell Boyd his bike needed some fucking TLC.That’swhat he should have swapped me for.

Not a dumb drawing that I’d sketched out while lying in my cell. The man was covered in average, prison-type tattoos. It wasn’t like he had any taste.

Despite the bike being less than stellar, and a vague protesting ache from my hips at being back in thisposition after not riding for six years, my soul nearly fucking sang at the wind on my face. The grumble of the bike beneath me was like an angel choir in my ears, and for the first time in forever, I could breathe.

I’d had no idea how much I’d missed this.

I pushed the bike harder, leaning into corners, quickly shaking off the rust. By the time I got up to the bluffs my blood was pounding in my ears.